He found himself watching her more and even Daryl had to wonder at how that was possible given how his eyes had tracked her before the encounter with the Walker.
Now, though, there wasn't a blink of her eye that he didn't seem to monitor and analyze. He knew it wasn't normal, but he couldn't seem to stop himself.
She took it for a day and he was surprised she let him get away with it that long.
They were sitting around the campfire for lack of anything else to do. Her hands were wrapped in gauze from the burns she'd gotten, preventing her from helping with the preparations for dinner as she usually would.
She was idle and clearly hated it, so used to having some task put upon her, no matter how small and possibly demeaning.
He liked the restlessness he sensed in her at the moment, glad she hadn't retreated back to tears in the isolation of the RV.
The others were moving around, quietly performing the tasks of cooking more of Daryl's venison and readying the camp for night. They all seemed to give Carol and him a wide berth, though, everyone still a bit unsettled with the previous afternoon's scene.
Dale had been the only one who'd tried to discuss it, meddling a bit like an old granny, but Daryl found himself appreciating the other man's efforts to ensure peace in the camp. The man had warned him of Carol's fragile state, which one would have had to have been deaf, dumb and blind not to figure out on their own and Daryl was more than a little curious about what had been said to Carol as the other man had tended to her hands.
Daryl would have appreciated it more, though, if the man had had some sage bit of advice to give about how to proceed in handling a woman in such a fragile state. He hadn't asked, though, and Dale hadn't offered any pearls of wisdom, just a subtle warning.
Lori brought her a plate of meat and the canned vegetable of the day, peas from what he could see and Carol accepted the dish with one of her grateful smiles.
He'd filed several of her smiles away, but had yet to see any that were truly happy. If he had managed to find Sophia, he had no doubt that the woman would have graced him with a joyous expression that he could have carried in his head till death. That kind of happiness had no place in the world anymore, though, and he hated to think that maybe that was what she been getting at with what she'd said the day before.
Neither getting nor expecting to be waited on himself, he pushed up from his camp chair long enough to grab a plate then pile it with a chunk of meat and peas. He snagged a fresh bottle of water before settling back down to watch her eat.
She chewed each bite of deer exactly twenty-two times, by his count of the flexing of her jaw as her teeth worked over the meat.
It was about then that he began to realize that she maybe didn't need watched that closely and Daryl focused on consuming his own portions.
The group was quiet and somber, with little to talk about and no one willing to throw a conversation opener out.
Daryl didn't mind it, used to quiet.
Most of them were content enough with the silence, except Carl and Glenn, but even the young ones held their tongues. The meal broke up quickly, with the group splitting apart with an almost palpable relief.
The Grimes family retired to their tent. Dale climbed atop his Winnebago to retake his preferred position for night watch. T-Dog went into the RV while Glenn wandered off toward the house, most likely hoping for a stolen moment with Maggie. Shane and Andrea went off on a supposed walk of the perimeter, but Daryl knew they were likely blowing off some tension in the most basic way a man and woman could.
His eyes went back to watching Carol at that thought, considering it, against his better judgment.
She went suddenly from gazing into the fire to looking straight into his eyes and he froze at her stare.
"What do you want from me?"
Her soft question made him jump guiltily and he turned away to look at the flames, letting the images of lips and legs play through his head a moment longer before he tried to answer her.
"Don't want anything from you," he said replied quietly.
"What are you waiting for, then? The way you keep watching me," she frowned at him, indicating displeasure at the scrutiny, "if you don't want something, then you're expecting me to do something. What?"
Knowing he wouldn't be able to form a coherent thought in the snare of her eyes, he went back to the hypnotic fire and let the dancing flames draw the words from him.
"We weren't allowed pets growing up, Merle or I," he began softly and sensed her leaning forward to hear him better. "The dogs were all there for a purpose. If you weren't useful, you weren't kept. That was dad's way. Lucy was as close to a pet as I got. She was a beaut. Bloodhound with a nose that could smell a 'coon from days away. I helped my grandpa raise and train her.
When I was about five, she threw her first litter. Gramps had passed 'bout a month before and I wanted those pups. Wanted to teach them just like he'd shown me. Dad, though…he was drunk. Found her out back as she was cleaning off the last one and he just picked 'em all up. She bit at him, tried to protect her babies, but he just kicked her and laughed. Merle and I watched him get an old feed bag and shove the little guys in it and we didn't know what he was up to till after he led us off through the woods to the river and tossed the bag in. I tried to go in after it and he busted me a good one for that. Couldn't chew for damned near a week without my jaw hurting."
He paused to flex his jaw at the memory, as if to insure it wasn't still dislocated by that long dead hand. She kept quiet through the break, making him feel a bit put upon under the intensity of her stare.
"Lucy was no good after that. Whenever we let her out of the pen, she just ran off looking for those pups. I'd be able to get her back most times, but it was just as bad when she was chained up. She'd sniff around the house and howl till dad'd stumble out and kick her to stop the noise. She stopped eating after about a week of that. A month later we let her out and she never came back. The buzzards circling were the thing that helped me find her afterward. Took a few days. She was nothing but that red hide and bones on the bank of the river and they were picking over her remains. Nothing wrong with her, no shots or wounds that woulda killed her, but when I got closer I saw the feedbag under her head and knew she'd found it, laid down and just died there."
He gulped down the memory, wishing for a beer or cigarette to occupy his hands for this. He set them to picking at the fraying threads of his shirt for lack of anything productive to do.
"Margo was dad's favorite. A Rottweiler. He named her after this barfly he brought home when I was about eight, but I doubt there was anything sentimental in that. She turned vicious after he took her pups. He really liked that. Was proud of her when she tore up a stray that came around and tried to mount her afterward. She damned near tore the dog's throat out. Merle still has scars on his leg from getting to close in feeding her. She went bezerk. Never had another litter. Never let another dog on her. Dad kept her out on a chain at the top of the drive till she bit the mailman and the county ordered her put down.
Then there was Ellie. She'd been grampa's. A basset hound. Seemed to live forever. I don't know how old she was when I came along, but I was ten when she finally died. I hated that dog. Whatever happened, she'd just take it. Dad kicked her, she just crawled off for a minute or two then came back for more. He drowned her babies and she'd sniff around for them for a minute or two then bury her nose in a dish of food. The other dogs got on her and she just took it, popping out more pups till she was too old to do that anymore. Nothing seemed to matter to her."
He could feel in her eyes a question for his point and he wondered if he could make it. The words and thoughts felt jumbled in his head and Daryl wasn't sure how to tie the bit of his past to the present with her.
For her.
"And you see those as my only options?"
Her sudden question startled him, lost as he'd gotten in thought, and his head whipped around to stare back at her.
"I crawl off to die, go bezerk or just accept it all?"
The summation didn't sound quite right, but she seemed to have gotten the gist of where his thoughts had been, so he nodded slowly in answer of her question. Her gaze went to the fire, expression turning thoughtful and those thoughts turning inward to a place Daryl wished he had access to.
"I guess that's about right," she said after a few moments, rising from her chair and moving to climb into the RV for the night without giving him another glance or any indication of the option she leant toward.